Eros
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: Her tortured past & his borderline-stalking lead to an unexpected moment of lust, with sinister consequences. (Scorose) MATURE *Dark Paranormal AU*
1. Blue Rose

**All right everyone, you can all blame one of your fellow readers for ****_another _****new fic. After a mention during PM discussion that there were not enough Dark! AU Scorose fics, I heard a voice from within the deepest recesses of The Plunnie Box rumble the words, "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!"**

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><p><span><strong>REMINDER<strong>**: This is an **_**Alternate Universe**_** Fiction, & my AU's tend to veer very far from the source material. If this does not sit well with you as a fan of the original work, then please read no further.**

**Disclaimer****: ****_Harry Potter_**** characters & other key canon elements © JK Rowling.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Blue Rose

He had no idea what so fascinated her about it. Just a silly bit of graffiti from the sixties—or seventies, or fifties, who cared, really—which no one had ever bothered to paint over, was all.

Scorpius hadn't even noticed at first. She was simply the bizarre girl he passed each day on his way across campus as they went to one of the few classes they shared. Yet at some point, he saw that she always started out ahead of him, but managed to get through the lecture hall door only moments before the class started.

In spite of himself—and the rumors regarding her—he was curious about this gap in time. What did she do with those lost minutes?

And so one day, he'd lagged back. Telling his friends to go on ahead, he'd pretended he left a book in their last class. After all, with the whispers that had followed the pretty, redheaded Goth girl since secondary school, he couldn't have them thinking _she_ was the reason for his delay.

Trailing a few meters behind her, he honestly expected to find her skulking off into some dark corner. Yet, there she'd stood—plainly, out in the open.

Staring at a blue rose painted on the crumbling brick wall. She would tip her head side to side, like a curious feline, heave a sigh, and then turn and start toward class again.

Same thing every day.

It couldn't be because she shared the flower's name. That was stupid, and her academic record proved her anything but. So Scorpius couldn't help puzzling over what, exactly, was going through Rose Weasley's mind when her gaze traced over that image.

He could hardly come out and ask her. Honestly, if someone saw him speaking with _her_, what would they think? Even the other campus outcasts kept their distance; the only person who associated with her was her cousin, Albus, but he was forgiven for this, as they were family.

Though he wasn't quite certain when, or how it had happened, he understood he must've taken to watching her more often than simply on that long walk from Conversational French to—the far more interesting course—Experimental Topics in the Philosophy of Mind.

He began to notice she would vanish for indeterminate periods after having any particularly abrasive encounters with other students. Never very long, perhaps twenty minutes, but whatever she was doing, she would always pop back up, looking perfectly calm and reserved. Not the wide-eyed, lip-biting creature fighting to hold in painfully obvious tears as she'd gathered up her things and simply walked away those twenty minutes before.

Scorpius sank his teeth into his bottom lip, stealing glances at her when his friends weren't looking as they ate their lunch in the university's rather impressive dining hall. Where did she disappear to? What _did _she do while she was there?

On _this_ particular afternoon, her cousin Albus was chatting away about something, and Rose was nodding absently, appearing to murmur in response every now and then. They were like night and day, those two—he was preppy, and dark-haired with small brown eyes and skin tanned from outdoor sports. Rose had those long, flaming ginger locks, fishnet, the buckles, and leather straps, not to mention the scattering of strategically-placed, oversized safety pins which seemed to be what held her clothes together. She was pale, which made her large, dark blue eyes seem even larger, making it almost unsettling to find oneself the object of her gaze.

She had her sketchbook open in front of her, her small, delicate hand dragging a pencil in smooth, gliding lines across the page. The corners of her mouth quirked upward as she glanced quickly from her work, to her cousin's face, and back.

It was all Scorpius could do not to arch a brow. Had she just smiled? He didn't think she was capable.

Albus stood up and stretched, before leaning down to drop a kiss atop his cousin's head. She nodded to something he said, and then returned her attention to her drawing once he was away from the table.

As she sat there, working away at who knew what, Scorpius noticed the strangest thing happen. Her expression softened. She looked . . . happy. Not smiling; hardly a ray of sunshine, that one. But content.

Then Petra Flint _stumbled _when passing by. Reaching out to steady herself, she grabbed Rose's arm, _accidentally_ knocking over her bottle of juice. Orange liquid spread across the table, and over the drawing, soaking through some pages of the book before Rose had a chance to snatch it out of the way.

And that soft, content expression vanished in a blink.

Petra feigned an innocent look. "Oh, sorry, Rose. Lucky it wasn't that good, I'd have _hated_ to ruin something that was important."

Rose didn't seem to hear her. Grabbing her bag, she stowed away her pencils and stood. She picked up the sketchbook as she turned away from the table, dumping it in the nearest rubbish bin as she walked out the doors.

_Whatever it is she does, she's going to do it _right _now_, Scorpius thought.

And much like any day, his friends hadn't noticed Rose had left—they'd not even really noticed she'd been there.

He made a sour face, patting his stomach. "I . . . think I'm going to go to my room and lie down. I'm not feeling so well."

Greggory glanced toward him, grimacing at the way his friend's features twisted. "Yeah, you don't look too good, mate."

By the time Greggory had finished speaking and the others looked up, Scorpius was already striding away from the table. He glanced into the rubbish bin as he passed.

The wrinkly orange-stained page showed what had clearly been a perfect rendering of Albus. Well, perfect _before _it had been ruined, anyway.

Now he was even more curious as to how she managed to keep herself from reacting to such things.

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><p>Rose kept her gaze trained ahead of her as she walked. She forced herself not to look at the blue flower gracing that wall, despite that she felt pulled toward it.<p>

Like she _always_ did.

She could never explain what it was about that silly, faded image that spoke to her, only that she somehow felt . . . as though it was _meant_ for her. Of course that was completely ridiculous, it had been there since before her mother was born.

And she'd never tell _anyone_ she thought so; she had no desire for her family to catch wind of her talking mad.

Even with that idiot Scorpius Malfoy always trailing along behind her, she couldn't pull herself away from the wall without giving that rose a long, curious look. He wasn't nearly as sneaky as he believed he was Honestly, some days it was all she could do not to storm up to him and give that annoyingly handsome face a right smack! Maybe rip out that perfect, platinum hair of his. He was lucky he was cute, or she actually might put more effort into the thought.

But she was_ too_ angry at the moment. It had been too many days, she was starting to lose her control—she could tell from the way her fingers trembled as grasped the strap on her messenger bag. Rose might've struck Petra right in her pug-nosed face, had she not walked away when she did.

She was only glad Albus hadn't been there to see the incident. He would've taken Petra to task for it, and then everyone might turn on him, too.

But then no one ever did anything like _that_ when Albus was around to see. Rose wasn't about to tell him that, though. She was a big girl, she had a way of managing her woes that didn't involve harming anyone, nor enlisting her cousin as an obligated protector.

Albus stayed by her side through all that had happened because he liked who she was beneath the bullshit. She wasn't going to sully that by making him feel duty-bound to remain with her at all times just so no one would harass her.

There was no time for gazing at her pretty blue rose just now. She was too preoccupied, struggling so much harder to hold onto her temper than she normally did. That was why girls like Petra tormented her, she knew that. Never mind that Rose was slender and not very tall, she was scrappy and quite tougher than she looked, and her reputation had preceded her. They knew she_ was_quite capable of hurting them, but that she wouldn't actually lift a finger against them. Bullying her made them feel big and bad.

But fighting was something she simply _wouldn't—_not_ couldn't—_do. They didn't seem to know the difference. They thought she'd lost her will to fight.

If only they realized how much will it took _not_ to.

Gripping the strap of her bag against her shoulder more securely, she glanced back. No one was paying her any attention.

Nodding to herself, she hurried off toward Hawthorn House.

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><p>Scorpius furrowed his brow as he watched her pick up her pace. It wasn't her sudden rush that puzzled him, but her direction. What the bloody hell was she doing going <em>there<em>?

Hawthorn House was a left over faculty residence building from nearly half a century ago. The foundation was still sound, so there was much discussion of renovating it, but—much like the blue rose—Hogwarts University simply never got around to doing anything about it.

Other than some fools sneaking in to decorate the interior walls with graffiti from time to time, no one set foot in that place.

Shoulders hunching, Scorpius glanced about as well, making certain no one noticed he was following _her. _As he trailed after her, he thought over what she could be doing in there.

Drugs? Possibly. That would be one way of coping. Unless . . . maybe she was meeting someone? He nearly stopped in his tracks at the thought. Could she be one of those girls who vented her stress by shagging random blokes?

Well, she _was_ rather attractive, in spite of the way she presented herself to the world. He just couldn't imagine who would risk getting caught with her. It would be social suicide.

She slipped through an open window around the side of the building, and he once more glanced about before approaching. Biting his lip, he ducked down, peering through the opening from a corner.

Rose appeared to scan the floor before making a low whispering sound. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head, but then a shifting in the rundown parlor caught her attention.

"Pyewacket, there you are," Scorpius heard her say in cheerful sing-song.

A scrawny black and white cat—whose coat looked as though it had seen better days—trotted toward the girl. She settled on her knees and took off her bag.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here yesterday," she said, her voice low and soothing as she petted the feline a moment before reaching into her bag. "I couldn't get away from Albus."

Withdrawing a bottle of water and a can—probably tuna, Scorpius guessed—she filled two tin trays he'd not noticed a moment before. The poor cat dove into the food nearly as soon as she was done dumping it out.

"I brought you something more." From her bag, she pulled out a box of dry cat food. "In case I can't make it tomorrow. I read somewhere that cats only eat what they need, rather than everything that's put in front of them. So if I put this out and leave it for you, then you'll be okay for a few days."

Scorpius' head fell to one side. _This _was her grand coping mechanism? She cared for a stray cat?

Petting the cat once more, she opened the box of food and shook out what was probably half the contents and spread it around the lump of tuna, careful not to interrupt Pyewacket from eating. The little beast was purring so loud, Scorpius could hear it from where he was.

But then, after putting the box back in her bag, she stood and went further into the depths of the building.

Well, he didn't want her to catch him, but he wasn't going to find out anything staying there. Holding back a sigh, he slipped in through the window.

As he passed the cat, he couldn't help but notice that the creature looked up from its food to stare at him.

Arching a brow, Scorpius paused a moment, staring back. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that cat was _actually_ scowling at him. It had stopped purring, so maybe it _was_.

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to finding where Rose had disappeared to. He crept further along the corridor, which seemed to run the length of the first floor, bypassing the steps to the upper levels. As he reached the backroom, there was no girl to be found. But there _was_ a simple, spiral staircase which led downward, into the basement.

He was confused by the architecture. Sparing a second, he made a quick mental to note to look up who'd slapped this place together so oddly.

Rolling his eyes, he thought sourly, _Likely someone named _Hawthorn_._

Scorpius ignored the useless wondering and edged toward the first step. Peering down, he couldn't make out anything from where he was, but he believed he could hear Rose whispering. He couldn't quite catch the words, though.

Carefully picking where to step, he descended halfway down the staircase. Lowering himself to sit on his heels, he gripped his hands around the dusty, twisting bars of the bannister.

And instantly he regretted his decision to spy on Rose Weasley.

She stood at the back of the room, candles lit on a round, antique table before her. There was red paint on the wall in front of her little setup, and he pretended he didn't know what the symbols meant.

Still she was whispering, and still he couldn't make out the words. Latin, maybe?

But then she held up her hands, and he saw the dagger clenched in one, as the other was splayed open. He saw the gleam of crimson liquid against her pale skin in the flickering candle light.

Before he could stop himself, Scorpius was on his feet, yelling as he bolted down the steps, "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed this first installment ;)<strong>

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><p><strong>My Regular Readers<strong>**: As my original fic list will soon start its update cycle (finally), but my hectic home life makes an actual, ****_set_**** schedule nigh impossible, I'm considering taking one reader's suggestion & starting a mailing list to keep those interested more actively informed of what is updating next, or any delays to updating the fics, overall (i.e.: rl crisis striking). If you'd like to be added to the mailing list, you can PM me your email address, or mention in your review that you'd like to be included, and I'll PM you to request it from you :)**_** (Please take into account that the FF private messaging system auto-deletes anything with an internet domain name, so you'll need to spell out your email address [example: Screen (underscore, or hyphen if present) at hotmail dot com]).**_

**I will list the order in which the fics will be updated on my profile page, and note the most recent date under each fic, so one can just reference that to see which is next.**

**New Readers****: "Did she****_ really_**** just say she's putting together a mailing list?" Yes, I did. I swear to you, I'm not full of myself or my stories like that, it's just that I have an ungodly amount of fics all running at once (seriously, there's like 13 of them). I just thought this person had a point; I have so many fics, & without a set schedule, it would be easier for those who enjoy my stories to know what to expect, & when, rather than having to hunt down my profile page & sift through dates & titles :/.**

**Everyone****: I have started a secondary writing profile, Krystal-Freya. It's a joint account with my FF critique partner, krystalMage. Solely collaborative works will be posted there (such as our upcoming Scorlily/RosexMalfoyOC fic **_**The Lost Heir**_**) my individual works will remain with me, as krystal's works will remain with her.**


	2. Fascination and Simplicity

**My other** **_HP_** **Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered_(Dramione [**one-shot**, lemon])

_Dame Blanche_ (Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

_Displacement_ (Dramione/Scorose)

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [PwP; _**only **_**on AFF. net**])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_(Draco-Hermione-Blaise [PwP; _**only **_**on AFF. net**])

_Mortality_ ([AU] Dramione])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius])

_The Lestrange Girl_ ([AU] Dramione]

_The Meekdragon Legacy_ (Dramione [possible Harmione])

_Tourniquet_(Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

_Wizard Theory_([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Fascination and Simplicity

Rose dropped the dagger. The sound of the blade hitting the table rang through the cellar, seeming unnaturally loud as she spun on her heel to face the intruder. She tucked her bloodied arm behind her back as she moved.

Her jaw dropped. She'd expected campus security, or even one of her tormentors. Not her stalker. She _still_ had trouble getting her head around the fact that the person she'd felt following her—and _watching_ her—for months now was some spoiled, well-liked child of privilege.

"Scorpius?" She asked, her whispered voice stammering in disbelief.

But he pushed passed her, his gaze searching the top of her aged, makeshift altar.

Scorpius frowned darkly when he found nothing but smatterings of blood here. He'd thought he was catching her doing something truly depraved, but clearly there was no small, helpless animal she was sacrificing. Perhaps he should have known better after witnessing her gentleness with that poor, pathetic feline upstairs.

Grey eyes narrowed and his dark brow furrowing, he wondered. If she wasn't doing what he thought, then where had this blood—both old, and fresh dotting the worn surface—come from?

In a flash, he remembered her hiding her arm behind her back as she turned toward him.

He pivoted to face her directly, but she wouldn't look at him. Those huge, dark-blue eyes were cast downward and she chewed furiously on her bottom lip, her arms tucked behind her, still.

"Rose," he said, fighting to control the tone of his voice, "what did you do?"

She lifted her gaze to meet his, but remained silent.

There was something so wounded in that simple look—not that he was hurting her, but that she just _was_ hurting inside—that he wondered if she was wordlessly begging him to go away. But he couldn't. He had no idea why. Normally, he could affect the most icy, dispassionate expression and simply turn on a heel; casually stride away from anything.

But she stood _so_ close . . . . He could see the faintest smattering of barely-visible freckles across the bridge of her nose, could smell a hint of strawberry coming from her hair. So what that she was pretty and damaged—there were a million damaged, pretty things in the world, weren't there?

Yet, even telling himself that, he couldn't look away from her.

Scorpius arched a brow when all she did was continue to stare at him quietly. "Rose, show me what you've done to yourself."

The fair, delicate skin beneath her eyes pinched as she said, "What? Why?" She took a step back, thoughtlessly bumping her altar behind her as she gave him a calculating once-over. "Why do—" Rose cut her words short. She'd been about to ask why he cared, but he didn't care. He couldn't; he was likely just curious. "I don't have to _show you_ anything."

How guarded she suddenly was struck a chord. He understood her reluctance, and knew it was something he could use against her. Never mind that he hated himself a little for it—he thought that maybe, if he knew the truth behind all the things everyone whispered about her, if she filled in the blanks, then he _would_ be able to turn and walk away. Mystery that was Rose Weasley solved.

He shifted his footing, placing himself squarely in front of her and took a step closer, all but pinning her between himself and the table. "Show me, or I call campus security and tell them what you've been doing down here."

Scorpius found he had to steel himself against the way her expression crumbled, instantly. No longer so fiery, her narrowed blue eyes widened, and that full bottom lip shivered.

"Please don't," she whispered, pausing to swallow hard. "They'll call my family, and I can't have that."

His eyebrows shot up into his pale hair, but he forcibly softened his expression. "Then do as I ask, and show me what you've done."

Biting into her bottom lip, she lowered her head and drew her arm forward, her sleeve was rolled up to her elbow. With a heavy sigh, she turned it over, showing a thin, horizontal slash marring the inside of her forearm.

He tilted his head, examining it. So her hand wasn't bleeding, after all, it was blood that had trickled into her palm from the wound. The cut looked careful, and precise; clearly she wasn't new at this. And along either side of it were thin lines of paler skin. Scars from older cuts, barely noticeable for how fair she was.

Long sleeves— he'd noticed months ago, he just hadn't suspected there was an _actual_ reason. She always wore long sleeves, or arm-warmers, with thumbholes cut into them. More than a fashion choice, he realized, she probably did it to secure the fabric in place, so no one would see.

Thoughtlessly reaching out, he delicately caught her arm between his hands.

A shuddering sigh escaped her. He lifted his gaze to find her shaking her head, her eyes watering and looking like she wanted to melt through the table just to get away from him.

Once more, he understood, or he thought he did. How long had it been since anyone—save her cousin—had touched her gently?

"Why do you do this?"

Rose was taken aback by the simplicity of the question. No one ever really asked. No, that wasn't wholly true. They'd asked, but the people who'd asked were the ones who'd blame themselves, and so she'd never been able to tell them. Her silence had brought her unfortunate consequences, but it was better than hurting the people she loved, wasn't it?

She sniffled, shrugging as she forced herself to look at her arm in his tentative grasp. "Because it eases other types of pain. Gives me something to focus on, something _I_ can control."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything, and she could tell he was trying to understand.

"Please don't tell anyone," she said softly.

He met her gaze. She was in the palm of his hand. He could make her do _anything_ right now. "If you answer everything I ask of you, then I promise your secret is safe with me."

Rose furrowed her brow. She didn't like those terms, but she didn't see any way out of it. What could she say? That he only found her here, doing this, because he—Scorpius _Malfoy_—had made a recent habit of following _her_ about? No one would believe her, even if she tried.

"Okay," she said nodding. "Suppose I haven't a choice, have I?"

"No, you really haven't. Is what they say about you true?"

She nodded, looking uncomfortable, suddenly. "When I was sixteen, I spent half a year in a mental institution."

"Because of this?" He stroked curious fingertips over the long-sealed cuts beside the fresh one, and she shuddered.

Scorpius bit hard into his bottom lip. He was being ridiculous, and he knew he should be ashamed of himself, but her reactions to his touches while they stood so close was doing things to him.

"Yes. Mum and Dad took in my cousins after their parents died. James, Albus and Lily _lost_ their parents. Uncle Harry was Mum and Dad's best friend, and of course, Aunt Ginny was Dad's sister. They all lost someone so important to them. I mean, I lost them, too, but I wasn't as affected, so I just sort of . . . ."

"Got shuffled into the background?"

She nodded, wishing he'd stop touching her. His fingertips were warm against her skin, his touch pleasant. She didn't want to get used to that. "It wasn't their fault, I know they were trying. There was just _too_ much to deal with. I started getting into fights; was the only way to vent things since I didn't have anyone to talk to about my comparatively piddly problems without sounding selfish. But it got _bad_." Rose shook her head, sniffling again, wondering why he wouldn't let her go. "Got so I couldn't make it a few days without throwing a punch, like I was addicted to it. Mum was _so _disappointed, and I just . . . I couldn't take _that look_ from her."

"So you started doing this, instead, and you couldn't tell your family_ they_ were the reason, so instead you didn't give them _any_ reason, and they sent you away."

There was a distinct pause, and he looked up to find her staring into his face. "What?"

Once more, she looked as though she wanted to shrink backward. She wasn't used to attention that _wasn't_ negative from anyone but family or professors, and it had been so very long since she'd been so close to someone this good-looking. Honestly, how could he have any sort of fascination with _her_?

What was wrong with him?

"I've tried to explain before—to friends, when I used to have them. No one ever really understood, but you do."

He shrugged, yet still held her arm. "Of course I do. It makes perfect sense."

She laughed, a strangely light and airy sound as a smile broke across her face. Relief prompted thoughtless words to tumble from her lips, "Scorpius Malfoy, I could kiss you."

Again his eyebrows shot up, a small smirk tugging one corner of his mouth upward. Those blue eyes widened, and the most enchanting blush flooded her cheeks. So immediate was her reaction, it made him wonder more than how long it had been since someone had touched her kindly. How long since she'd been kissed? How long since she'd . . . . Well, now the question was had she ever?

"Could you now?"

She instantly looked so terrified it was all he could do to hold in a chuckle. "I . . . I didn't mean it like that."

He lowered his gaze deliberately, letting it trace over her lips. "Pity."

Rose felt her breath catch in her throat and the warmth in her cheeks flare further, still. "Did—" She forced herself to keep thinking, to keep talking; this situation was becoming weird, even for her. "Did you have another question?"

Scorpius graciously allowed her to redirect his attention—for the moment. "All right. What about all that? Are you a witch, or something?" He flicked his gaze to the wall behind her.

She looked over her shoulder at the red marks painted on the wall above her silly, not_-really_-an-altar, altar. "Oh, no." She giggled, the sound breathless. "That's just some gibberish, far as I can tell."

"Gibberish in blood? And as far as you can tell? Does that mean you didn't put it there?"

"It's paint, you can tell from the shade of red it is. And no. One of those idiots who sneaks in at night and puts graffiti on the walls did it, trying to freak out anyone who might come down here. One day, this wall was blank, the next it wasn't."

"So what were you doing when I found you?"

She froze. His voice had been strangely close to her ear; she could swear she'd felt his breath whispering over her throat.

Turning her head forward, she found that he _had_ moved closer. So close she could see flecks of sable in his pale-grey irises. "Well," she said, forcing a gulp, "it's just how I cope. The words I was saying don't mean anything. I just . . . I come here and I _pretend _that I'm putting a curse on the person who crossed me. I know I didn't, and it's not actually going to do anything, but I feel better afterward, unburdened. Like I can face the bullshit again."

He nodded, watching her expression as he tipped his head this way, and that. Scorpius had no idea what he was doing, nor why he couldn't stop himself. But then, he wasn't certain he wanted to stop. If he was totally honest with himself, he'd been fascinated with her all along, hadn't he?

And now that he had her secrets, he still felt no urge to turn and walk away.

"Until another little shite like Petra Flint crosses you, and you feel yourself forced to come down here and harm yourself." Again, he stroked his fingertips along her scars, and again, she shuddered. But he stood nearer this time, he could actually feel her brush against him as that tremor wracked her body ever so slightly.

She could only stare up at him.

"Tell me, Rose, how long has it been for you?"

"How long has what been?"

He sank his teeth into his bottom lip and lifted his brows, his expression conveying his meaning.

Her jaw dropped and she had to remind herself to breathe. Was he _really_ asking her this? Despite her shock, she found herself answering, "T—two years."

"So, not a virgin, then?"

She shook her head. Okay, so he really_ was_ asking that.

"Good," he said, his voice lowering to a breathy, gravelly pitch, "then I don't need to feel guilty for the things I'm thinking."

Rose reached backward, gripping her altar with her free hand to steady herself as a blush flared in her cheeks all over again. "Scorpius? What are you doing?"

He leaned closer, still, his lips brushing hers as he whispered, "Isn't it obvious?"

His tongue darted out, tracing her mouth, teasing and delicate.

She trembled, sighing and he took the opportunity, thrusting his tongue between her lips. He relinquished his hold on her arm, and slid his hands around her. His fingers curled into fists in the fabric of her shirt.

The warmth of his body against hers and the plunging of his tongue, even as she caressed it with her own as though she simply couldn't stop herself, sent warm, sweet pulses through her.

Too long since she'd felt anything like this . . . . She broke the kiss, pulling her head back to meet his gaze.

Her blue eyes were hazy and her face flushed. He thought he could devour her on the spot, looking up at him like that. "What?"

Shaking her head, she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to," he answered simply, his brow furrowing like he didn't understand the question.

How _simple_ that really made things surprised her.

"I'll tell you what," he said, carefully rolling up her shirt to reveal a black satin bra. "If you can tell me that this doesn't feel good, I'll stop." Scorpius inched down the satin, bunching it beneath her breasts, displaying them.

Yet the moment she dropped her gaze to look down at herself, he cupped the rounded flesh with his hands. He brushed the edges of his thumbs over her nipples in teasing circles.

She moaned, her head falling back and her body sinking toward his touch.

Her reaction brought a smile to his lips. He rocked his pelvis forward, pressing against her and she moaned again, trembling.

"So, Rose," he started only when she forced herself to lift her head, meeting his gaze. God, she looked so perfectly innocent and helpless. And all from the _simplest_ ministrations. The poor girl wasn't just a damaged pretty thing, she was also _starving _for physical affection. "Do you want me to stop?"

She was so confused. She wanted him to stop, and yet wanted him to keep going, all at once. But she wanted him to stop _because_ it felt good, not because it didn't. Staring into that perfect, pale face and those beautiful grey eyes, she vaguely wondered when she'd started believing she didn't deserve things that felt good.

He pressed forward again, and she gasped at the spikes of sweet, thudding warmth it sent coursing through her.

Her breath escaped in short little huffs as she said, "No. Please, don't stop."

Scorpius grinned, his mouth crashing down on hers, once more.


	3. The Scorpion & His Rose

**Next to Update****: ****_Silver Blood_**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

The Scorpion & His Rose

Rose jumped at the feeling of his fingers slipping beneath her pleated black skirt. A little whimpering sound rumbled out of her.

Once more, Scorpius broke the kiss to meet her gaze. Still with that bewildered, innocent look. He knew he should just pull away and end this now, but he simply_ couldn't_. He found himself in the very peculiar position of _wanting _to soothe her anxieties.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered, cupping her face in his hands.

She nodded, forcing a deep breath. As odd as it seemed, she believed him. It didn't matter that this would be a one-off, or that they'd never spoken before ten minutes ago and would likely never even look in one another's direction again after this.

No, all that mattered just now was the way Scorpius Malfoy was looking at her and how he held her face so gently. All that mattered was that it felt like the world outside this broken-down cellar had fallen away; like they were the only two people in existence.

Who cared what happened _after_?

She allowed herself to relax beneath his touch. But then he did something that surprised her. Slipping one hand from her face, he caught her arm again and held it up.

Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to her wound in a delicate kiss. "You see? I can be gentle."

A shuddering breath escaped her as she watched him raise his head to meet her gaze again. Ruby droplets dusted his mouth.

She reached up, brushing the pad of her thumb over the drops as she whispered, "You've got my blood on your lips."

When she reflexively lapped them off her thumb—it was her own blood after all—he surprised her yet again, by darting his tongue out to lick whatever was left from his lips.

"Well," he said, not entirely certain why he'd just done that, "maybe I'm just that eager to know what you taste like."

There was something in his tone—warm and secretive and alluring—and she found herself capturing his hands in hers and guiding them back to her breasts. The action made him grin as he lowered his head to nip and lap at the side of her throat.

One hand kneaded and teased while the other slid down her body. This time she didn't jump at the feel of his fingers dipping beneath her skirt and traveling upward, along her thigh. Instead, she shifted, parting her thighs for him.

Smiling against her skin, he tugged aside the elastic of her knickers. The tips of his fingers stroked and explored. Nearly before he even realized he moved, he'd slipped his other arm around her and hoisted her up, to sit on the altar.

Rose slipped her arms around his neck, cradling his head as he brought his mouth to her breast. She trembled and sighed at the way he delicately scraped his teeth over her nipple as his other hand worked between her thighs.

When she heard the sound of a zipper, she froze.

Scorpius felt her tense against him and lifted his head as his hands stilled. His brow furrowed in question as he met her suddenly wide-eyed gaze.

"Do . . . ." Her voice tumbled out in a shaky whisper and she tried again. "Do you have . . . well, you know?"

She couldn't even say it! Scorpius held in a chuckle—she really was just _too _adorable.

"Yes," he said, smirking as he nodded. From the small, inner pocket beneath the line of his belt, he tugged out a little foil square. "You'll excuse me if I only had one hand to work with, at the moment." To emphasize his point, the fingers between her thighs moved again, rubbing over her in quick, rough circles.

Rose gasped, her eyelids fluttering.

"In fact . . . ." He pressed the square against her palm. "Why don't you help me out with that?" Watching her expression, he slipped his free hand between her legs, as well, to sink into her with two fingers.

She trembled and reflexively ground her pelvis against his entry.

Scorpius smiled at her response—she was warm, and wet and _so_ tight—as he pushed into her again and again. "Seeing as my hands are occupied."

Biting her lip to hold in a moan, she was no longer certain how she'd gotten into this. But she knew she didn't want to stop. It was difficult to concentrate with his hands moving over her likes this, with how her body rocked against his motions of its own accord.

Steeling her nerves, she slipped her fingers into his clothes. She couldn't help stroking his hardened length as she pulled him free. The skin beneath her fingertips was simply so smooth and warm.

And from the little growling sound that had just rumbled out of the back of his throat, she could only assume he was enjoying her curiosity. She had the condom in her hand, all she had to do was open the packet and slip it on him . . . . But as she lifted her gaze to his, she found that she wanted to keep at this—wanted to keep touching him like this. There was just something about the heated, hazy look in those grey eyes.

He couldn't help the flush in his cheeks, not the way his smile spread as she tried to match the stroking of her hand over him with the thrusting of his fingers between her thighs. She'd either been quite experienced before these two years of no one touching her, or she was a fast learner.

Oddly, he found himself hoping for the latter.

She clenched around his fingers and a gasp tore out of him.

His reaction startled her, and he was happy to note this. She couldn't have been very experienced at all if she couldn't predict his reactions.

Clenching his teeth, he quickened the pace of his fingers. He felt rewarded by the way she moaned and shivered against him.

Lowering his head as he rocked his hips, pushing his length through her curiously stroking and petting fingers, he whispered in her ear so that his lips moved against her skin as he spoke. "Stop teasing me, Rose."

When he pulled back to look into her eyes, the sudden flare of color in her face and bashful gleam in those dark-blue depths told him she hadn't a clue what she was actually doing to him.

"Sorry," she said with a sheepish grin.

Withdrawing her hand from him, she set to opening the foil wrapper. Rose wasn't certain her fingers had ever felt as clumsy and awkward as they did just now as she extracted the condom and tossed the wrapper aside; as she delicately rolled the slick rubber down over his length. Though the way he pulsed and twitched in her hands drew an anxious giggle from her.

As soon as she was finished, he pulled his hands from her, holding knickers aside, still. Sparing a moment to position himself, he thrust his hips, entering her fast and deep.

Rose cried out at the quick, sharp pain that accompanied his entry. She'd known that was going to happen after so long without being touched, but she still couldn't stop her arms from wrapping tight around his shoulders, nor the way her legs drew up on either side of him.

Staring into her eyes, he bit his lip as he pulled back, withdrawing almost entirely. "All right?

Swallowing hard, she nodded.

He smiled and said in a low, gravelly pitch, "Good."

Scorpius' mouth crashed down on hers in a hard, brutal kiss as he thrust forward, sinking into her again and again.

The tension drained from her slowly and she started moving against him, rocking her hips so that he sank deeper into her with each motion. Her fingers curled in the hair at the back of his head and she nipped and suckled at his plunging tongue.

She found herself pulling at him, wrapping her legs around him and locking her ankles behind his back. Rose wiggled and pushed, moving to the very edge of the tabletop. Anything she could do to get him closer as he thrust into her.

He groaned deep in the back of his throat as he quickened his pace once more, pushing into her harder and faster, still.

Her body tightened around his length and she broke the kiss, letting out a pleading whimper. He could tell she was close and he slid his hands over her hips, pulling her more sharply against him.

Rose stilled, her body locking around his and her head falling back as he brought her to orgasm.

The way she trembled and clenched around him, and the delicious little sounds she made pushed him closer and closer. He found himself only too eager, the thrusting of his hips becoming erratic and jerking.

Orgasm ebbing, she nearly collapsed in his arms, the sweet, dizzy aftershocks spiraling through her. But she wasn't certain what to do now.

He saved her from her own inexperience, using his hands on her hips to move her, causing her pelvis to buck and grind against his motions.

When Scorpius froze in one final hard, sharp thrust, she followed his lead. She braced her palms against the altar's surface on either side of her for leverage and continued working herself around him as he came.

A fine tremor ran through his muscles as he dropped his head back and let out a shuddering breath. He was grateful she seemed to eager to follow his guidance; pity that she probably wouldn't let this happen again.

His hands stilled her and he simply held her against him for a long, quiet moment as they both caught their breath.

She'd thought he would simply pull away from her and right his clothes. That he'd just zip up his jeans, turn on a heel and walk up those stairs.

Yet he surprised her once more, capturing her in another of his deliciously savage kisses. A laugh sounded in the back of her throat, distracting him.

"Sorry," she said after she broke the kiss.

His eyebrows shot up into his pale hair. "May I ask what's so funny?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, but somehow couldn't help an amused grin. "Just . . . I think we've missed the start of class."

He understood, suddenly. The mental picture of the two of them—mismatched pair that they were, even ignoring her status as social pariah—late, arriving together, and tellingly disheveled was actually a humorous thought.

"Maybe we just skip today."

She shook her head, watching cautiously as he withdrew from her. "If we're both missing, that's more obvious than if we show up late, together."

"Hmm . . . ." A thoughtful light came into his expression as he nodded. She was correct, of course.

He held out his hands to help her hop down from the altar. The way she started at the gesture was priceless and he nearly laughed.

"Oh, okay, then," she said in a quiet voice, allowing him to assist her. She was ignoring that her knees wobbled just a little as she planted her feet on the floor.

He nodded toward the staircase. "You go on, first." He angled his jaw toward her wounded arm as she grabbed her bag. "And Rose? Do something about that, yeah?"

Her mouth dropped open, as though she was about to say something, but she only closed it again and nodded, her brow furrowing. She spared a moment to finger-comb her long, red hair and fuss with her clothes to straighten herself out.

Scorpius watched her ascend the stairs, listened carefully to her footfalls trudge across the floor just overhead. Her steps fell quiet before she would've reached an exit, and he realized this was why she hadn't heard him approach earlier.

Shaking his head—he was having trouble believing that had really just happened—he removed the condom and carelessly tossed it aside, near where Rose had discarded the wrapper. After righting his clothes, he swiped at the back of his neck, raking his hair back into place from where her fingers had curled into it.

The skin stung and he pulled his hand back. There was a smattering of red on his fingertips. Rose must've scratched him. Honestly, he'd been so caught up he hadn't even noticed. Even now he didn't mind the thought.

He carelessly wiped the smear of crimson on his fingers against the worn tabletop and left.

* * *

><p>Scorpius tossed and turned the whole night. All he could see was her face, all he could feel was the stroking of her fingertips along his skin and the delicious, warm clenching of her body around his.<p>

All he could hear was her soft, ragged breaths and her voice crying his name in a fit of passion.

* * *

><p>Rose bolted upright in bed, barely minutes before her alarm was to sound. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. The entire night, she could think of nothing but the way his hips had jerked as he thrust into her, and how his skin tasted against her lips.<p>

She was surprised she hadn't awoken moaning his name.

* * *

><p>He kept trying to catch her gaze in the classes they shared, but it seemed she was deliberately avoiding looking anywhere remotely near his direction.<p>

Finally, she was hurrying across the campus—past the wall with her precious blue rose—when he managed to catch up with her. He didn't notice that this day, she didn't look at her much beloved bit of antiquated graffiti.

He didn't even notice that there was no one about as he stepped up behind her and slipped an arm around her elbow. It was only by sheer coincidence that nobody was around to see the dire social misstep.

Rose spun to face him, her expression angry and her eyes watering. Yet there was something in her face, he thought. Some glimmer that made him think she wanted to drop that bitterness the moment their eyes locked, but she refused to let it go.

There was a strange second as she looked at him, when he was consumed by the sweet, pulse-racing images that had crowded his mind as he slept. He pushed it away, forcing himself to focus.

"Rose, why are you so angry?" He dropped his voice and stepped closer. "Tell me this isn't about yesterday!" Honestly, he may have been manipulative, but it was hardly as though he forced her.

Laughing mirthlessly, she shook her head and sniffled. Pointing to the wall, she said, "No. It's that! I _thought_ what happened yesterday was between us. Should've known someone like you couldn't take any _real_ interest in a girl like me. Next time, find a different way to signal your stupid buddies instead of ruining a piece of art!"

She tried to shake his hand from her arm, but he held tight. What the bloody hell was she blathering on about? Did she think he'd shagged her because he'd been dared to, or something?

But then he turned, following her angry, accusatory gesture. There, on the wall was a scorpion—as red as the rose was blue—covering part of the stem. No, it didn't simply cover it. It was _devouring_ it.

Scorpius felt a sick, cold twisting in the pit of his stomach. Something about that image simply wasn't _right_.

"Rose," he said softly, "I swear that _wasn't_ me."

More than just the confused tone of his voice, the mystified look in his eyes told her he was being completely sincere. The bitterness drained from her expression instantly.

"So then . . . ." Her brows drew together as she whispered breathlessly, "So then someone knows what happened between us yesterday."

"I think someone was _watching_ us, yesterday."

The moment the words left his lips, Rose felt the icy prickling against her skin. Felt the unpleasant tickling sensation of goosebumps rising. "Oh, God. Do you feel that?"

His grey eyes carried a disquieted look as he nodded.

She couldn't help stating the feeling aloud, needing the verification. "Someone is watching up right now," she whispered.

She wanted him to shake his head. Wanted him to laugh and tell her this was just some sick joke that had gone too far; to find out that crawling sensation along her skin was one of his stupid buddies spying on them from somewhere close, but hidden, would be a strange relief. Even just to tell her she was wrong and paranoid.

But Scorpius Malfoy only nodded before swallowing hard and turning his head to look around.


End file.
